A Change of Stars
by slyprentice
Summary: A change of stars is sometimes needed to see beyond the vastness of space and the trials of living. Written for the ST XI kink meme.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: A Change of Stars  
**Author**: Prentice aka **slyprentice**  
**Rating**: PG-13, for language. Gen  
**Pairing**: K/S pre-slash/friendship  
**Status**: WIP  
**Spoilers**: Star Trek XI, Star Wars  
**Warning**: Crossover madness. Wookies. Corellian Brandy. Jim as an idealistic young cadet padawan.  
**Summary**: Based on a prompt by **yami_no_kabi**, who wanted a ST/SW fic with Spock as a Sith Apprentice, Kirk as a Padawan, McCoy as a Jedi Knight, and a few other specifics along the way. Written for the **st_xi_kink** meme.  
**Word Count**: 790 for this part  
**Disclaimer**: Neither of these will ever be mine and if they were then James T. Kirk would surely say, at least once, 'have you ever made it with a wookie?' because that's the kind of person I am.  
**A/N**: Many thanks to yami_no_kabi for providing such an awesome prompt for the kink meme. This is my first time writing Trek fic and I'm already having a blast.

Feedback is always welcome, as well as those pointing out any flubs I might have missed before posting.

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**[Part 1]**

"I'm a healer, not a goddamn diplomat," Jedi Knight Leonard McCoy grumbled irritably, scowl stretching hard and fierce across his face as he moved swiftly through the empty halls of the Jedi Temple, stomach rumbling. It was nearly time for noonday meal and though he had been at liberty for most of the day, he still hadn't managed to make his way to finding a warm lunch thanks to an influx of injured patients. Not that the Jedi Council gave a damn.

Scowl deepening, Leonard turned a glare to the too cheerful padawan keeping pace beside him. "This is your fault, you know; you and your goddamn overeager overachievement. I knew I should have never taken a padawn!"

"You've said that before, Bones," Jim Kirk replied, the cheerful smirk and bounce in his gait all the more irritating when coupled with the fact that he didn't seem at all perturbed by the fact that the Jedi Council had just sent them on some wild goddamn goose chase half-way across the galaxy. "You love me, anyway. Admit it."

A loud inelegant snort was his only response, his pace quickening as they neared their living quarters. There were preparations to make – ones that his padawan was surely planning to duck out of as soon as he was able to – and then there was the…other…matter. Lips thinning, McCoy shot a look of pure venom at a passing padawan – who promptly paled and squeaked – before stopping sharply in front of the nondescript door to his and Jim's quarters. Fingers stabbing at the door's control panel, he quickly stepped inside, eyes sweeping their small front room.

It was lived in and welcoming, filled with small touches of both his and his padawans' lives, loves, and interests. Not exactly the norm when it came to austere living that most Jedi embraced but he had never been one to adhere to any sort of code when it came to creature comforts and neither of them was exactly what you would call orthodox when it came to Jedi. No wonder the goddamn council had picked them.

"Before you run off to do god knows what with god knows who," Bones began, sliding his outer robes off his shoulders and dropping them over a nearby chair before moving towards the small cabinet that he knew still held a bottle of Corellian brandy. He needed a drink, had needed a drink from the moment Master Pike and Master Yoda had agreed that they should leave immediately for a star base in the gamma sector, a largely uncharted section of the universe, where his padawan would likely get them both killed. "We're going to have a little talk."

"Bones…" Jim started, expression already setting into that stubborn jut that meant nothing but trouble. Christ, they both were probably going to be shot. Or shot out of an air lock. Or contract some rare disease that would kill them in a matter of hours. He poured himself a very large glass.

"No, padawan," he cut in, a small spike of satisfaction harpooning through his gut when Jim quieted immediately. 'Padawan' always seemed to be the magic word where the kid was concerned. "I want you to listen to me. I don't know how you managed to wrangle us into this – don't give me that look; I _know_ you, Jim – but you're not going to do anything and I mean _anything _like you did the last time you managed to hoodwink the council into giving us a mission…"

"But everything turned out fine!" Jim interjected, blue eyes bright with determination, hands sliding from beneath the folds of his tan robe, fingers spreading wide. "No one died and we managed to get back all the stolen data files to the Rilonan High Council before the end of the day!"

"We were there for a wedding, Jim! A wedding! My god, man, I still don't know how we went from listening to Rilonan High Chancellor babble on about wedded bliss to space-hopping to some godforsaken backwater planet in Klingon territory to recover stolen data files that you somehow found out were stolen but never even mentioned to me until after we were neck deep in trouble!"

Pausing for a moment, McCoy downed a large mouthful from his glass, dark eyes staring hard at his friend and padawan. The brandy burned all the way down, easing some of the tension that had settled deeply into his muscles. "I won't have it, Jim. Not again. We're doing this by the book. Just this time, you hear?"

For another long moment the two stared at each other, Jim's mouth pulling down at the corners before he sighed, shook his head, and said: "Of course, Master. By the book."

TBC in Part 2


	2. Chapter 2

**[Part 2]**

The cold vastness of space had never bothered Spock – to be bothered by something was illogical; as space was not a being that could be cut down or forced into submission – and so when his master had bid him to travel to a mostly uncharted sector of the universe, to a star base of which he knew very little, it did not occur to him to be apprehensive. He was an experienced pilot, after all, and while he was not fully trained in all ways of the Sith, he was a formidable opponent and apt at causing extensive amounts of damage to any species that chose to challenge him. A terrible miscalculation on their part – to challenge him so – but one that he considered a valuable step towards becoming a better and more proficient Sith Apprentice and, eventually, a Sith Lord, who would turn his eyes to the Federation that failed to keep alive what was most precious to him.

Folding his hands behind his back, his double-sided lightsaber a lightweight against his hip and thigh, Spock stared out the plexiglass window of his cockpit, watching as stars passed in a blur of motion. Autopilot was set and would be so for a least another 91.12 seconds, an ample amount of time to stand and stretch muscles that had not been used for the duration of this journey. It also gave ample amount of time to re-exam his master's instructions:

_The battle droid fell easily beneath the arched swing of his lightsaber, its red glow shining in the yawning darkness of the Narada's training facility, and landed sparking and smoldering next to the decimated remains of its brothers. A quick flash of sparks flew from the droid's metal casing, the acrid smell of fried circuitry permeating the air, before all was silent. Disengaging his lightsaber, Spock slide seamlessly back into position, breathing steady and unchanged. He was getting better, more skilled, more powerful._

_"Very good, Spock. Very good." _

_Inclining his head, Spock turned, robes billowing around him as he flowed to one knee, his head bowed respectfully. Heavy footsteps moved towards him, the clomping of boots against metal echoing into nothingness. A hand touched his hair, fingertips brushing the pointed tips of one of his ears, a thumb sweeping a lock of hair. _

_"What is thy bidding, my master?" _

_The hand moved again, fingers digging hard into his skull, before pulling away. Spock remained still, neither missing the hand nor abhorring it. He simply breathed._

_"Rise, Spock. I have a mission for you." _

_Regaining his feet, he stared at his master, taking in the dark liquid eyes, the wicked grin, and strange tattoos that decorated the man's skin. They were as he always remembered them to be: unchanged by time and the elements. "Master?"_

_"What do you know of the gamma sector, my apprentice?" Darth Nero asked, his voice an odd mixture of gravel and the poisonous venom of a predator. _

_Blinking, Spock holstered his saber. "Very little, Master. It is largely uncharted. There is one star base near a Federation Class M planet, with the few other close range planets being considered Class H, uninhabitable to humans." _

_"Very good. You will leave to the gamma sector immediately. I have already had Ayel prepare your ship. I want you to visit this star base, see if the Federation is as lax in its security as they were with the one nearest Arakkis Prime. Report to me immediately all that you find."_

_"And if I find nothing, Master?" Spock queried, expression blank. _

_Something feral glittered in his master's eyes as he turned, lips pulling into a terrible smile. "Don't worry, Spock. You will." _

The high-pitched beep of the Jellyfish's autopilot preparing to disengage pulled Spock from his ruminations and propelled him into motion. Unclasping his hands, he moved towards the command chair, sliding easily into the seat even as his fingers glided easily over the console, lithely pressing buttons and toggling view screens. He would be entering gamma sector space in three…two…one…

A large chunk of metal hull careened towards the Jellyfish, its edges scorched and torn. Spock banked hard starboard, the strange sound of metal scraping metal loud inside the small confines of the cockpit. Proximity alarms and alerts began to sound. An electronic voice announced shields at forty percent. Scattered debris – small to large bits of durasteel and hull – drifted chaotically in space, forcing Spock to maneuver on instinct alone through the minefield that once was the location of gamma sector's star base.

Another sizable piece of hull, this one sporting large painted letters, drifted past almost lazily, twirling in a cartwheel. Blinking, Spock continued to guide his ship, mind and body steady and unmoved. "Fascinating."

TBC in Part 3


	3. Chapter 3

**[Part 3]**

Gamma Solarii VI was an M-Class planet, abundant with water and rich with vegetation, with an atmosphere high in nitrogen, oxygen, and other small trace elements. Its surface shimmered in space, blue-green and breathtaking on the view screen, its holographic projection rotating a full three-hundred-and-sixty for better viewing. Leaning forward in his chair, Jim Kirk rubbed a hand over chin, cobalt eyes drinking in the small-scale recreation of land formations and bodies of water.

In many ways, the planet was almost identical to Earth, Jim and Bones' homeworld, with its flora and fauna and clusters of humanoid life. It was a beautiful place, with bodies of water that stretched on for thousands of miles and land masses that varied as greatly as those on Earth, if the Federation surveys were correct. Too bad they wouldn't be seeing it much. Staring at the revolving holo-planet, Jim frowned. Or maybe the would.

"Hey Bones," he said, voice lilting as he ignored the disgruntled sigh that gusted behind him. They had only been travelling a few hours, the bulk passenger cruiser they had boarded in Coruscant cutting through space at a fixed acceleration, pacing their journey and accounting for every parsec. It was slow going and looking to be boring as hell…unless Jim made it more interesting.

Allowing the holographic planet one more revolution, he toggled the screen off, watching the projection flicker and vanish, before turning towards his master. "You want to play a game of sabacc? I'll bet you a bottle of saurian brandy for – "

"Jim, I swear to god, if you interrupt my meditation one more time, I'll stick a hypo in your neck and knock you out the rest of the trip," Bones cut in, eyes closed and lips pulling down at the corners. His hands were resting on his knees, legs folded beneath him, outer robes and lightsaber discarded into a messy heap on one of the beds. He had been that way for at least an hour, face set in grim determination as he tried to center himself.

Jim had never seen someone so pissed off while being one with the Force. Not even Master Komack, who was basically a dick at the best of times. Blowing out a breath, eyes roaming over their temporary lodgings, he resisted the urge to fidget. That was the problem with traveling through space – lots of spare time.

"Don't be like that," he said eventually, pushing himself up and out the chair, hands smoothing his robes back into position. "You've been trying for an hour. Can't we _do_ something?"

An eyelid cracked open balefully, pinning him in place. "Like your astrophysics paper?"

"Bones!" Jim cried, indignantly. "I finished that last week."

The other eye opened. "Did you turn it in?"

The grin that sprang to Jim's lips was reflexive, charming and a little bit daring. It was the one that he gave any time someone asked him something he didn't want to answer. It hadn't worked on Bones yet but he couldn't help hoping that one of these days it would take. Apparently, that day wasn't going to be today.

"I didn't think so," his master muttered, eyes rolling as he pushed himself to his feet. "What is it that you want to do? And _don't_ say sabacc because I know you cheat, even if you don't want to admit it."

His grin widened. "Now would I do that to you?"

"You did last time."

Rocking on his feet, hip bumping gently against the holovid console, Jim shrugged. "That wasn't cheating, Bones, that was just creative thinking. And anyway," he continued hurriedly, when the other man opened his mouth to respond. "You always did suck at card games. I mean, how else do you explain that Larbeyan slave girl who followed us around for weeks when we were on Beta 12 – "

"All right. All _right._"

"- and made those weird little chipmunk noises that were really distracting. No wonder that guy wanted to get rid of her. She never shut _up – " _

"Neither do you, apparently," the man growled, face flushing a pale rose as he hooked his saber back to his belt.

" – and totally thought you were the shit for freeing her," Jim concluded. "Maybe you should take up chess instead."

"Like you?" Bones challenged, face still high with color. He shook out his robes, fingers rummaging in the hidden innards before pulling out – a hypospray?

"No, no," Jim said, hurriedly. "Nothing like me at all. You're your own man and if you want to continue to get snowballed –" the hypospray twirled in his friend's fingers, looking slim and ominous. "I mean, play cards totally fairly then that's up to you."

"Damn strai-"

The ear jarring screech of metal slamming against the side of their vessel made both men freeze, emergency proximity alarms blaring. The hiss-flare of the passenger cruises shields going up and being hammered with _something_ reverberated between alarm blasts. The frenzied shouts of frightened passengers bled through the door.

They shared a look, the training bond between them flaring to life in blazing determination, before they both turned to the door and went to meet the chaos and find out what the hell was going on.

TBC in Part 4

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**Author's Note: **Believe it or not, there is a method to my madness, which will be revealed as the story progresses. Thank you for the reviews, by the way! I appreciate them more than you know. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**[Part 4]**

There were times in Leonard's life that being a Jedi Knight and a Healer meant facing the worst of what the universe had to offer, be it sentient made or the ebb and flow of the universe. He understood this reality better than most. Balance was important to a Jedi – if a life must be taken, a new one would be born – but even with the Force washing over him, cleaning away the fear and anguish of so much pain and life lost, he couldn't help but feel as though he should have been able to do more.

Turning away from the lifeless body before him, he smoothed his fingers over his robes, the edges torn and smoldering, his eyes scanning the crowded and chaotic medical bay. There was so many injured, so many in pain, their screams and moans blending with the gut wrenching weeping of the scared and lost in a ghastly symphony. It made him feel tired inside, old.

Eyes once again scanning over taken bio-beds, huddled figures stuffed into chairs and empty corners, he felt the keen tug of his bond with Jim. It had been muted over the last hour, as if Jim was closing his end, allowing his master to focus on the sick and the injured that had piled up since the beginning of the turmoil. It made Leonard frown, affectionate exasperation and worry filling him. He would be the first to admit that Jim could be a pain in the ass at the best of times – that smart mouth and charm of his was going to get him into a hell of a situation one of these days – but he was also one of the most selfless and tenderhearted son of bitches Bones had ever met. It made him want to protect the kid – from himself more than anyone else.

Blowing out a breath, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, he felt a flutter of relief inside him as he spied a flash of blond hair and tan but torn and grimy robes near the medbay doors. The feeling was short-lived, however, as Bones eyes focused on the man struggling forward under his padawan's guidance. He looked dangerously pale, blood flowing over the tattered remains of a Federation sanctioned uniform.

"Put him on the bed, Jim," McCoy ordered, voice carrying over the den of noise in the way only a true physicians could. Pivoting away, knowing without looking that his friend would do exactly as he was told, he grabbed at a nearby med-tricorder, fingers fumbling in his robes for his hypo. "Where'd you find this one?"

Jim's voice sounded tired and raw, as if he'd a run three hundred yard dash with no water before or after. "He was the last we beamed aboard. He insisted."

"Damn fool," Bones muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he waved the tricorder over the man's prone body, lips setting into a grim line. It wasn't looking good. Glancing at Jim, taking in the haggard but set expression, he felt another wave of affectionate exasperation fill him and spill over into their bond. "You did well, padawan."

The smile Jim gave him didn't quite meet his eyes, the normal shine in them dulled by exhaustion, worry, and brutal resolve, but it would have to be enough for now. Focusing his attention back to the man in front of him, he pressed the hypo as gently as he was able to the man's neck, watching as the sedative took affect, not that it would do much good now.

"Know who he is?" He asked after a moment, mind and body working on autopilot as he tried to stave off the inevitable. Even with enhanced Force Healing, there wasn't much good that he could do.

"Captain of the Farragut, Stephen Garrovick," Jim supplied, voice catching ever so slightly. "He stayed aboard; wanted the rest of the crew to get off first." A jagged shard of pain bloomed through their bond, the edges of it digging into Leonard's gut before he felt Jim let it melt into the Force, just as he had been taught to do.

"Jim…" He paused, hand hovering over the Captain's chest, the swirl of Healing Force flowing through him and easing the man's passing. The blood, ruby red like crushed Alderaan cherries, smelled sticky sweet and rusty between them. Sighing, he shook his head.

Now wasn't the time. It never seemed to be, when it came to Jim's past. "We need to find out what happened. This all seems a little too convenient for me and the Farragut is a ship of the line – not one that would be prone to accidents."

The soft rattle of Commander Garrovick's breathing, disturbingly wet and sucking, sounded quietly beneath the screeching moan of a nearby patient. Jim shook his head, mouth beginning to pinch. "There were scorch marks, Bones. I saw them right before we started transporting people over. Someone tried to blow the Farragut straight out of space. There was no accident."

The apprehension, the tickle of _something else_ going on, drifted through him, cutting through the Healing Force that flowed through him and made him feel, for the first time since leaving the temple, every inch the Jedi Knight he was. "There's a presence here, Jim. A signature in the Force. " He met his padawan's eyes over the biobed, the flare of life slipping away beneath his fingers. "One that I haven't felt before."

"I feel it too, Master," the other man replied, eyes dropping to the Federation officer on the bed. McCoy nodded, hovering hand coming to rest on the finally still body of Captain Stephen Garrovick, Commander of the U.S.S. Farragut. There was nothing more he could do.

"The Force be with you, Commander," he murmured, hand lifting to disappear back into his robes. He stared past his padawan, the healer in him aching to mend all the broken bodies and broken hearts around them. "We need to get to that star base, Jim."

"We're only a few more parsecs away," was the immediate reply. When his padawan's eyes met his, they were blazing. "I'll see what I can do for transport."

Nodding, he refocused his attention on the next patient. "Get to it, padawan."

TBC in Part 5

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**Random ST trivia: **Commander Garrovick was never given a first name in Star Trek but his son (Ensign Garrovick) - who served on the USS Enterprise and showed up in several novels and comics - was referred to by several names - Stephen, Tom, and David - and played by Stephen Brooks. That's where the name came from. It isn't too far-fetched to think a son would be named after his father, would it? :)


	5. Chapter 5

**[Part 5]**

Gamma Solarii VI was, by all accounts, a primitive planet. Filled with abundant vegetation, a wide range of animals – mammalian, aquatic, and reptilian – and a humanoid populace that would likely consume the inherent riches of living on so lush a world within the better part of a millennia, if all calculations and variables were to be accounted for accurately, and a temperature that was well within the parameters of habitability. Much colder than what a Vulcan would consider but moderate enough by Spock's own, much altered, standards that he would be able to function unhindered by extra robes or un-desirous bodily functions, such as shivering.

Fingers moving over the console with practiced ease, he laid in a course for the nearest geostationary docking station, relying solely on the ships more advanced technology to maneuver through the last of the star base debris. Much of it had drifted, somersaulting outward, as if whatever cataclysmic event had happened on the ship had come internally and forced it to rip itself apart from the inside out.

Eyes lifting to the circular view screen of his ship, Spock stared out at the few pieces of wreckage that drifted nearby, their bodies twirling lazily. A small piece of hull, no bigger than his torso, was well within ship range, making it easy to see that although the initial explosion had ripped it apart from the rest of the hull, it was not overly scorched or charred. Similarly, a mechanical device of some sort, which looked similar to a hydrospanner with melted ends, floated without much more than grease marks.

It would take a powerful explosion, or several small carefully placed ones, to cause such a catastrophic and consuming blast. Well beyond the capabilities of a small single-person ship such as the Jellyfish, whose directed energy weapons would do little more than destabilize the star base's shields and cause minor damage to the hull and possible persons in the area. Removing himself from the distinctive triangular pilots chair, Spock stood, mind whirling with all potential possibilities.

While the gamma sector's star base was not immense – housing only a quarter of standard Federation star base allotted personnel, who would be responsible for overseeing normal operation and any temporary travelers – it was considerably larger than the average freighter or even a bulk cruiser. Which left two options: either a ship of the line, one equipped with powerful weapons and capabilities, had blown the star base to pieces or…

Spock froze, face blank as he stared hard at the interior of his ship and the empty red matter storage facility. It had been empty for some time, his master choosing to move the precious and highly unstable matter to his own ship for closer and more personal protection. It had seemed a logical step at the time, his master and mentor far more capable of protecting such an important tool for destruction than he, but now, with the remains of the star base floating around him, he felt a tug, vicious and sharp, at the core of his being.

The only other option, aside from a ship of the line, was sabotage, perpetrated in order to bring destruction and chaos to the Federation, and a mad scramble in his direction. Eyelids dropping, fingers curling into fists at his side, he could feel the dark swirl of Force inside him, the untamed power of it howling inside every molecule of his being, screaming out for –

_"The planet only has seconds left," he said, the loud rumble of an unstable world beneath his feet and echoing off the walls of the Katric ark. Stones, large and powerful, tumbled around them, crushing sacred pieces of Vulcan heritage. "We must evacuate." _

_Holding out his hand, Spock stared at the Vulcan High Council, his father, his mother. Amanda Grayson's face was ashen, smudged with dirt and swathed in sweat. She looked terrified and ill, fragile beneath the Vulcan clothing she had adopted to please his father. "Mother, now," he implored, hand grasping out, willing her to hurry, to be safe in his caring and away from the destruction that was about to befall his people._

_Feeling her cool hand in his, so very human but alive, made his heart pound against his side, something not-quite relief heaving inside of him. He would keep her safe, alive, and whole. Unblemished by what was happening here. _

_Turning, they ran, dodging falling stone, precious Vulcan works of art, and bits of heritage that he knew they, as a people, would never again see the likes of. His mother's breathing, so rapid and shallow, echoed inside the trembling corridors, his father's heavy footfalls close behind. He would save them. _

_They burst from the tunnel, rocks sliding dangerously close to their precarious position, his mother's arm threaded through his own. Flipping open his communicator, he all but screamed into it, demanding, "This is Spock, get us out of here."_

_The response was immediate, the instructions to stay where they were a small pittance to his worry. He squeezed his mother's fingers, allowing her arm to slide from his own and taking a small step back, the energizing beams already beginning to wrap around them. They would be safe, together, a family._

_His mother turned, her face white and tracked with frightened tears, and her eyes…her eyes…_

Blinking, Spock uncurled his aching fists, the bloody crescent moons his fingers hand dug into his palm welling green. The Force around him breathed with dark energy, crackling and ready to be used. A storm was brewing inside of him, hot and aching, and so unlike the cool balm of logic it nearly crippled him. But now was not the time.

Rotating back to the command chair, he moved forward, eyes drinking in the triangular back of the seat and the circular view screen. They formed a perfect replica of the Vulcan IDIC, the symbol of the basis of all Vulcan philosophy. It was one of the few symbols left.

The soothing blanket of logic poured over him, tempering the wild darkness of the Force building inside him. If his assessment was correct, if indeed the star base had been sabotaged by some person or persons, then his master had sent him into a trap, one designed to either kill or incapacitate him for a time. But, to what purpose?

"Dom-ki'sarlah," Spock murmured, watching through the view screen as another bit of wreckage drifted by. If this was what his master wanted, so be it. "Nirak."

TBC in Part 6

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**Vulcan Translation**:_  
Dom-ki'sarlah_: So, it has come._  
Nirak_: Fool.

**Author's Note**: Any and all further translations will _always_ be at the bottom of the chapter since the site doesn't allow for a better way of explanation or hover-over translation. I don't plan to inundate the story with a lot of other languages but on the off chance there is a few foreign words thrown in, this is where to look.


	6. Chapter 6

**[Part 6]**

Galia was an Orion female, green-skinned and beautiful, with fiery red curls that made her distinctive, even among her own species, and liquid eyes that stared up at him sadly. Touching her hand, fingers brushing against the burned edges of her uniform dress cuff, Jim eased himself into the chair across from her, stomach clenching. He had never enjoyed these moments after a battle or crisis, when so many people – good people, some of who had never before seen the ravages of destruction – were faced with their own mortality and those of their fellow colleagues and friends. It reminded him of another time, a time better left forgotten, when he was forced to witness the avarice and all consuming chaos of a world gone so wrong.

Pulling his chair closer, hand still reached out in that gentle clasp, Jim drew in his will around him, offering what little comfort he could in his calmness. It was difficult to do and not entirely welcome, though the Jedi's vaunted equanimity had served him well in the past. Even so, it felt wrong somehow, criminal almost, in the face of such destruction.

"I'm sorry to have to ask you to do this," he said eventually; thumb rubbing a soothing pattern over hers. "I was going to ask Ensign Lant but she didn't seem…equal…to the task. I hope you'll forgive me."

Galia shook her head, tangled curls sliding over her shoulder. "No," she replied, fingers twitching in his grasp. "There's nothing to forgive. I'll help as much as I can. It's – it's the least I can do."

Nodding, Jim squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Despite his gruffness, his master was far more suited to these kinds of discussions, the inherent compassion in being a Jedi seemingly doubled in a man so apt at being a Healer. It was too bad Bones was buried in medbay, trying to put together some organized chaos into the madness that had overrun it.

Taking a deep fortifying breath, Jim pulled in the Force around them, layering it like a blanket so that they would not be disturbed. Not that they would, he was sure. Once the initial passing of the chaos had ensued, the cruisers bridge crew had ordered that all passengers, non-injuried and non-essential, were to go back to their quarters until further notice, with the promise that the Federation had already been contacted. Naturally, his master and he had been considered essential, as so many people seemed to calm at the sight of Jedi, believing that everything would be well if they were involved. It was a heady and frightening realization for Jim.

Shifting in his seat, eyes flickering over the remains of her uniform, he pressed on. "I need you to tell me what happened on the Farragut. As much as you remember."

For a long reflective moment, she said nothing, mouth opening and closing, throat working as she struggled to articulate what she had seen. It was painful to watch and made Jim wish, almost desperately, that he had some of his master's innate empathy towards the injured and the sick. It would have made things easier.

"It happened quickly," Galia rasped at length, voice raw and smoky. "So quickly. We were just – everything was just so normal and routine; nothing out of the ordinary. We didn't even have a warning before… before…" A hard shudder went through her body, a crimson colored sleeve sliding down her shoulder, ripped at the seams and dirtied with dark smudges. "There wasn't even time for a red alert. One minute we were all at our stations and the next…"

"The next..?" Jim prodded, feeling afloat in the face of her grief. It had never been easy for him, force-sensitive or not, to deal with other's emotions and he couldn't help but feel a bully for pressuring her. "It's all right if you can't continue. I won't make you."

Shaking her head, the Orion sniffed, seeming to draw on a reserve of strength inside of her self. "I don't know what happened next, exactly. There was an explosion and – I don't know – I must have gotten thrown or hit by something because the next thing I knew I was being dragged away by Ensign Remington. She –" her lips quivered, pressing together hard before she continued."She didn't make it."

Lips thinning in understanding, Jim stroked his fingers across hers, the soft reassurance drawing a mew of distress from her throat. The sound was obviously unbidden and unwelcome, if the way she hunched forward was any indication, looking small and fragile in her shredded uniform. The gesture made him think of a child playing dress-up, swallowed up someone else's clothes, someone else's world. Stroking her fingers again, he could feel them tremble beneath his own.

Another quiet minute passed, the drone of the engines a quiet encouragement. He wouldn't press her, wouldn't force answers out of her if she couldn't do it. He needed answers though, ones that he wouldn't get from anyone else – there was no one else he could go to, really. Not unless he wanted to wait for the shock to wear off.

When finally she met his eyes again, something that wasn't quite tears glittered in them, making them look distant and aching. She cleared her throat, breathe hitching. "She saved my life, Padawan Kirk, and I didn't even get to say 'thank you'. That – that doesn't seem fair."

Expression pinching without warning, a sob seemed to tear from her throat, hoarse and choking, and digging into Jim's gut until it was almost a tangible wound. Lifting a hand, he ran his fingers over her hair, the soft spring of curls tangled and sooty. He could imagine her before this, beautiful and exotic, happily working on some computer simulation or other, completely unaware that in a few minutes time her contented bubble would be shattered by dark chaos. By a dark being, who was Force-sensitive but not Jedi, who was willing to use it as a tool for destruction and chaos and their own personal gain – whatever that may be – and not care for the lives of others.

The very idea of that was overwhelming to him. As an initiate and a padawan, he had learned and come to embrace the tenets that all Jedi adhered to, wishing nothing more than to help maintain the Balance of the Force and help those who couldn't help themselves. To know that someone attuned to the currents of the Force would wish to disrupt the balance, to act as a cancer – always taking but never giving – made his skin itch with horrible foreboding.

He had never been one to believe in predestination – no matter what certain Knights may preach – and had scoffed at the notion many times during crèche classes. No one controlled James T. Kirk's destiny or fate or doom or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, thank you very much. He was his own man, human and fallible, and though he was a padawan-in-training, he did not believe that even the Force itself could dictate what lay in store for him unless he allowed it to. Even so, with the Farragut's shattered hull floating like so much space debris around them, Jim felt as though he were stepping onto a path that had been set in motion decades ago in the Living Force, perhaps even from the moment that he was born. The thought made him grimace, fingers smoothing even faster over Galia's hair.

"We were going on shore leave soon," she murmured abruptly, hand sliding from underneath his as she wrapped her arms around her middle, regulation boots scuffing the ground beneath them. "An M-Class planet, just a few parsecs away. Gamma Solarii VI, it…it's supposed to be…" her breath hitched again. "It's supposed to be beautiful."

Hand hovering over tousled curls, Jim froze, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "The Farragut was supposed to take shore leave? On Gamma Solarii VI?"

'Of all places', he didn't say because, really, it didn't seem appropriate. Fingers curling and pulling away, he let his hand drop to his lap. The stirring of unease, already eddying in his muscles, seemed to coil and wait. This really could not be freaking happening. It just…couldn't be.

Galia nodded, arms tightening around her midsection. "Yes. There's a star base near there. We were going to resupply and then dock while we took a week's shore leave on the planet. They're so close to one another, it just – it was the right choice – the right place to go. We all thought so."

Cursing silently, Jim manfully resisted the urge to jump to his feet and pace. It wouldn't do to allow others to see a Jedi, even a Jedi padawan, agitated and cursing like a Klingon with a hangover. Folding his hands back beneath his robes, the burn of hot restlessness stole across his psyche.

It was too much to believe this coincidence – hell, he didn't believe _in_ coincidences. Not with that damnable presence hanging in the Force, reeking of that unknown darkness. Shaking his head, Jim allowed his eyes to drift, taking in the smallish room he had commandeered for this particular conversation. Christ, this was turning into a mess; he could feel it in his bones. Shifting in his seat, he stared unseeing at the chronometer on the console near the wall, the screen blank save for the time and the vessel's cruiser designation.

Had it only been less than a day ago that he had first approached Master Pike with the single-minded determination for another mission glittering in his eyes? It didn't feel like it. Not by a long shoot. Bones was going to kill him.

As if on cue or some vindictive twist of fate, he felt the brush of his master's mind, the distinctive 'flavor' of the man's thoughts and emotions seeping into his consciousness. It was like a grumpy bear pawing at the barn door to his mind. Wincing, Jim poked back, feeling the flare of irritation and impatience blossom before his friend's voice sounded inside his skull, warning him that he was on his way. Oh yeah, he was definitely dead.

"I'm sorry," Galia's voice broke in, seemingly oblivious to his momentary inattention. Blinking, Jim swiveled his gaze back, watching as she slowly straightened, arms unwinding from her middle to brush back her curls, straighten the torn remains of uniform. "You didn't come to me for this." She gave him a tremulous smile; a small echo of the one he was sure could stun him into stupidity if she ever aimed its full wattage at him. "But I'm afraid I don't remember much more than that. Is – is there anything else you want to know? I heard you mention something about transport before, can – is there anything else?"

Nodding slowly, Jim set aside the ball of unease growing inside him. He would deal with it when his master got here, hopefully before being bludgeoned by a hypospray. "Yes. My master and I need to get to that star base, the one your ship was going to dock at? With the cruiser being so overloaded and so many casualties aboard, they're planning to divert the ship to the closest Federation allied planet in this quadrant."

Galia nodded, some of her composure seeming to leak back in starts and stops as she worked to tidy herself. "I'll see what I can do for you. I've a friend in Starfleet communications. She'll be able to see if anything is available."

Smiling kindly, Jim stood, the heft of his lightsaber slapping against his thigh. It was a comforting and familiar weight, one that he felt naked without. "Thank you, Galia. Any help would be welcome and appreciated."

Nodding again, she stood herself. "I'll see to it now. Nyota – she'll – she'll have probably heard the news by now." With that, she moved to the door, movements sluggish but graceful. Jim watched her go, smile fading from his face.

TBC in Part 7

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**A/N**: I'm honestly not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out but after five rewrites, I figured enough was enough and went forward with posting. On that note, I'll likely not be posting daily as I have been as university is taking precedence. I hope my capriciousness doesn't bother anyone. Lastly, while I haven't read the Star Trek XI novelization (and therefore don't know what kind of goodies are in it), I have to admit to a soft spot to Galia and since, in the movie, there was only implication and not confirmation of every single person's death, I decided she was fair game - even if this is the sum total of how much her character will be in the story.


End file.
